cindy's world

Via IM a few moments ago…
~ * ~

me: Q: What’s the difference between a car and a golf ball?
Mr. W: ?
me: A: Tiger can drive a golf ball 400 yards.
Mr. W: I’m so ick of stupid Tiger jokes. I’ve been ignoring them all day.
me: this was the only one I’ve heard! =( it’s not even 10a, how many jokes could you have been avoiding?
Mr. W: Im not even sure that one answers the question
me: it does. Tiger crashed his car just leaving his driveway. so he can drive a golf ball 400 yards, but he can’t drive his car 400 yards.
Mr. W: oh ok
me: OMG, you didn’t even get it!!
~ * ~

Hmmph. No love.

Ann had always intended to bake and decorate Christmas cookies one year, so she decided this year was the year. By the time I got there after work, she’d already had the sugar cookie dough done and in the oven, and was working on the gingerbread dough.

[Here’s a side story about how dependent I am on cell phones now. My cell died shortly after I arrived at work this morning, so I had to IM Ann to make plans this evening instead of doing our usual texting, then I had to leave messages on two friends’ social networking sites to let them know that my phone had died after they’d texted me, I wasn’t ignoring them. I’d planned to call the roofer to inquire as to what ceiling damage they’re willing to cover on some leaks that occurred at my rented-out home after they’d repaired the roof, but I couldn’t because their number is solely stored in my cell phone. And before I left work, I IMed Ann again to let her know I was on my way, and that I would have to arrive at her doorstep unannounced except for the doorbell (like in the old days!), whereas I’d normally text to say I was walking up to her building and she’d be at the door. At Ann’s, I had to borrow her cell phone to call Mr. W to let him know where I was and how to reach me if need be. As we were waiting for the cookies to cool, I volunteered to drive out to El Pollo Loco to pick up dinner. In the car, I attempted to put the address of the restaurant in the navigation system, but the nav wouldn’t pick it up. Instead of calling Ann, I had to walk back to her apartment, up the two flights of stairs, and ask her for directions. Then I walked back down to the car and was off. As soon as I walked into El Pollo Loco, I realized I’d forgotten to ask Ann what two sides she wanted with her meal, so I had to guess. When I returned, Ann said she’d realized it after I left, too, but of course she couldn’t call me to tell me that. Sheesh!]

During the cookie-decorating part of our evening, we struggled with getting the meringue icing to cooperate with what we wanted it to do. The sprinkles weren’t behaving in the way we thought they would, either. In a moment of silence as we worked in intense concentration, Ann noted that this is the quietest we’ve ever been while hanging out with each other. I don’t think it was quiet again after that, especially as I started sharing my creations’ backgrounds with her. She laughed at me for having a story around each of my cookies. It’s an only-child thing, I always had stories about everything, giving inanimate objects identities, when I was little and had no one else to play with. So here they are…

GINGERBREAD PEOPLE

Top left: This cookie came out of the cutter bigger than the other gingerbread people, so I explained the extra girth by giving him an open mouth (cuz he likes to eat) and a beer belly.
Top middle: This is angry evil gingerbread man. He’s carrying a long sword cuz he wants to kill somebody. And probably eat him. I have a picture of my friend Josh that looks like this mean gingerbread man.

Can you spot Josh? Hint: He looks like Evil Mr. Gingerbread Man.
Back to the Gingerbread Peeps. Top right: Miss Pageant Lady. She has a French manicure and French pedicure.
Bottom left: Art deco Gingerbread Person of Nondescript Gender.
Bottom leftish-middleish: Gingerbread Slut. She’s wearing too much makeup, had a collagen lip injection, is wearing a dress, high heels, AND a pearl necklace. *sideglance*
Bottom rightish-middleish: Wifebeater-clad Gingerbread Man. I could say he’s a caroler holding a songbook, but I’d be lying. The truth is he is one of my first cookies, before I knew what I was doing. Mr. W ate Wifebeater Gingerbread Man first.
Bottom right: Mr. Uncooperative Gingerbread Man. This is my 2nd attempt and he’s sympathizing with me about how difficult it is to work with this gooey frosting. He and I simultaneously went “Nyah.”

SUGAR COOKIE FOREST

Self-explanatory. They’re Christmas trees — or for those of you who resent Christian symbolism infused into our holidays, these are pine tree air fresheners that harken back to those stinky cardboard cutouts dangling from the rearview mirrors of various cigarette-sucking taxicab drivers.

Here’s the forest from a slightly different angle. All right, there are SOME stories.
Top left: It snowed on this tree, landed on the edges of the branches, and then a holiday fairy came by and made the snow all sparkly and pretty.
Top middle: This tree was decorated by paintball splatters.
Top right: Daisy-like flowers grew on this tree! It’s a miracle!
Bottom left: This is a Christmas tree trimmed with Christmas ornaments. Some gingerbread peeps did it.
Bottom middle: This is the “after” of the first cookie, after some more snow.
Bottom right: Hannukah meets Christmas in plaid!

SUGAR COOKIE SNOWMEN

It’s not that I’m being politically incorrect or sexist by calling them snowmen instead of snowpeeps; it’s that I did not make any snowchicks. I mean, they’re all wearing top hats! I don’t think women should be in top hats unless they’re tapdancing or pulling bunnies out of them. I couldn’t think of much to do with these little guys so they’re uncreative, but look how happy they are to be that way! Mr. W wanted to know why the top right snowman (the one in galoshes) is pigeon-toed, and the answer is, because he’s shy.

MISCELLANEOUS, i.e. STOCKINGS, A MITTEN, AND A DREIDEL

These stockings need to be hung on the chimneys with care, or they’d crumple or melt and wouldn’t be able to double as Santa treats.
Top left: This stocking is where I learned that the round candy sprinkles ruin the most carefully-made designs. This sock holds both an asterisk AND a pound sign. But can you tell after I added the sprinkles? Sadly, no.
Top right: A tribute to the Boston Red Sox. It was easier to do the patches red instead of the entire cookie. That’s WAY too much frosting to eat.
Bottom left: A Christmas-colored sock!
Bottom right: This mitten doubles as a dog’s pawprint! For those mutts who like to wear mits.
Right: Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I made you out of dough…

Now you can appreciate what I attempted to do with Sock #1.

COOKIE VILLAGE CHAOS!!

Mr. W’s daughter just came home as I was typing this, and walked into the kitchen cooing, “How cuuuute!” Mr. W made me go over and tell her the stories for all these little cookies. The problem with having stories about your creations is that now your creations have life and character, and eating them feels like murdering my children. I guess I’ll have to leave it up to Mr. W and Daughter to let these cookies fulfill their purpose in their tummies.

When James and I visited Jordan in Florida in March, we went to Orlando’s Universal Studios, and had dinner at Margaritaville at Universal CityWalk. The restaurant took a photo of the three of us and sold it to us, mounted in keychains, as souvenirs. This is the photo:

James apparently has the keychain just laying around where any small child could get a hold of it, because he sent me this email the other day:
~ * ~
My niece was over today…
She picked up the keychain from MargaritaVille and the following conversation ensued…

Her: “Who are these two girls?”
Me: “Those are my friends.”
Her: “Where did you take this picture?”
Me: “Disney World.”
Her: “You went there with them to Florida?”
Me: “Yes.”
Her: “Who is that one?” (Points to you)
Me: “That’s Cindy.”
Her: “And whose that one?” (Points to Jordan)
Me: “That’s Jordan.”
Her: “Oh….”

… She runs off only to come back sometime later, and picks up the photo again.

Her: “That’s Cindy.” (Points to you).
Her: “That’s Joan.” (Points to Jordan).
Me: “No, that’s Jordan!”
Her: “oh, Jordan!”

… She thinks for a moment.

Her: “Did you sleep with them?”
Me: … paused for a moment, realizing this question is coming from a 5 year old. “No, I didnt.”
Her: “Then where did you sleep? Did you sleep across the room from them?
Me: “Well I guess thats true at Jordan’s house.”
Her: “What about Cindy, what about her house?”
Me: “Her house is here, so she stayed with Jordan too.”
Her: “oh….”

… she thinks for a moment.

Her: “Are they mother and daughter?”
Me: “What?? No!”
Her: “Really? It could be true.”
Me: “What makes you think that? Which one do you think is which?”
Her: “Well the daughter here (points to you) and mother here (points to Jordan).”
Me: “But look one is asian and one is white!”
Her: “You never know…”

Lol…..

She is too funny.

See ya,
James
~ * ~
There’s another reason this is funny. When Jordan came to California for my wedding last August, she treated me to a manicure and pedicure. As the Vietnamese ladies worked on us (we were side-by-side), they chatted and found out I was getting married and that Jordan is visiting for that purpose. So they asked whether Jordan is my mother. It was an absurd question, first because of the racial difference, then because of the LACK of significant age difference. I guess they could’ve assumed she was my future mother-in-law. Nevertheless, Jordan walked away totally offended and complained about it for days.

Reason #3 why this is funny: since Jordan’s been too busy with her life to read blogs, this post will be up for a LONG time before she even realizes it, and so far she has no idea that the above had even occurred. Heh heh! (That’s what you get for being an absentee blogger, Jordan!)

This was fun…I received a forwarded text message from Jordan earlier that reads:

FWD: PLAY ALONG: you see me in a police car, what would u think I got arrested for? Answer me, then fwd and see how many crimes you get accused of!

Neato! I quickly responded to Jordan “trespassing. i.e. getting on some private property to take photos.” Like Tiger Woods’ house, which she always makes sure to point out when giving neighborhood tours to her visiting friends. Haha! I then forwarded the text to a bunch of my friends to see what kind of crimes I’d be accused of. Here are the responses:

Jordan: “indecent proposals!!” (note that she doesn’t just think I’m caught on my first proposal, but that I’d make more than one and then get caught. I texted back, “Like I’d offer someone money to have sex with me?” She responded, “yeah like Dwaine…to make an awesome blasian! hmmm is that an offense though?” Jordan and her hopes for an awesome blasian nephew…)
Gym Trainee: “Assault on police” (really? I’m that violent toward authority figures?)
Gamer Bro’s daughter Jenni: “Protesting for a cause” (I can see that.)
Christi (Flip Flop Girl): “Something mischievous like trespassing. You were playing kick the can at midnight on Halloween in a cemetery. To get in, u and Dwaine and other friends scaled a 16ft cement wall with spiked iron grating on top.” (1. Wow, detailed; 2. I’ve actually done something like that, except it was a regular weekend night and it was CalTech; 3. Dwaine’s popular among my girlfriends.)
Childhood friend Sandy: “If you’re sitting next to officer then not arrested at all. If in the back..hmmm you probably just needed a lift bc something happened to ur car….They’re giving you a hand is all. Really can’t see you arrested for anything.” (I texted back, “You know me the best!” She replied, “Of course. 🙂 known you 27 years..”)
Vanessa (Kitty Kat): “Jay says murder, i say u have been falsely id’d.” (I’m not sure what to think about Jay‘s response considering he’s a 911 operator. Maybe he thinks I’m one of those secretly violent types, like Gym Trainee does. I agree with Vanessa. haha)
Bat: “Prostitution?” (Why the question mark?)
Dardy: “indecent exposure” (I wonder which part he imagines I’d be indecently exposing.)
Claudio: “Negligence. Something bad happened in the courtroom while u were [online]!” (=O!! Altho that’s pretty realistic…)
Mr. W: “You’d only be arrested for a crime if you were following after your husband against your will.” (So true. I’ve been yelled at for being where I wasn’t supposed to be, cuz hubby thought it’d be cool to trespass to see what’s off-limits or what cool photos he could get from within where he isn’t allowed to be. I just refuse to follow him anymore.)
Flat Coke & Flies: “Jaywalking.” (Mr. W was with me at lunch when I received her text, and he said, “Again, you’d only be jaywalking cuz you were following me against your will.” What’s so unfair about this is he’ll probably be let off and I’d be the one to actually get arrested.)
Mark (cousin): “I would think you got arrested for arguing with a police officer about some random law. Can you even get arrested for that?” (I bet he got this from the fact that I’m one of very very few people who contested a ticket when Los Angeles is in financial crisis and won.)

A text conversation I had with Bat:

Him: Got your Halloween costume all ready??
Me: no…too lazy. what’re u again?
Him: A cow. MOOOOOO
Me: with teats?
Him: Yeppers. Jealous?
Me: only if u rig the teats so that if someone pulled it, milk would squirt out. can’t u fill it or something?
Him: Do I really want strangers pulling my teats?
Me: who wouldn’t?! u’d be a true cow.
Him: You want strangers to pull YOUR teats?
Me: ARE U CALLING ME A COW?!
Him: Nope, just sayin.
Me: ur udderly insane.
Him: Ha! Best pun ever!
Me: thanks! i’m punny.
Him: That was bad.
Me: ur just jealous. cows are like that. mooove on.
Him: You had a good first effort, then it was all downhill.
Me: hmmph. just cuz u can’t 6-stomach it.
Him: Erk.
Me: bovine.
Him: I can take my teats off.
Me: put it on your head & dance around! u can make a milkshake!
Him: Now you are just reaching.
Me: hay now…
Him: Bleh.
Me: oh come on, i know u laughed. i doubt you get usda prime entertainment like this from other people tonite.
Him: That remains to be seen! Aren’t you guys gonna do anything?
Me: nope. just handing out candy to the minute minions. of course, in ur case, u’d be a mignon.
Him: I’m bringing duct tape with me to SoCal.

Happy Candy-Gathering, readers! Drive carefully out there tonight, lest you inadvertently vanquish some little demons darting about with sugar highs.

I took a break after creating count 41 of my 44-count child molestation/rape case verdict forms to take a peek at Barney Stinson’s blog (see my blogroll on right to link in the future). “How I Met Your Mother” just started back up and I’d forgotten to see if the blog were updated as well.

My eyes and heart swelled as I saw all the Barney awesomeness sitting there, one post to correspond with each of the 5 episodes that have been aired this season. I’m behind! I devoured greedily, reliving each episode, chuckling at Barney’s witticism, sarcasm, and sexism, and toward the end, I saw to my dismay the biggest temptation toward something I’d been holding out against. Barney now TWEETS. I’ve thus far refused to get on Twitter, saying I’m not gonna be involved in yet another social networking addiction, and certainly not going to be leashed to it via my omnipresent cell phone. Thankfully, though, I discovered that I can click on Barney’s Twitter page and read all his tweets on a webpage without ever subscribing to the service itself. I caught up quickly, swallowing the jealousy over seeing other people actually interact with Barney via Twitter (he even hit on some women! I wanna be one of them!).

For now, I can stay strong. I can turn away from participating in Twitter. But only because I have 6 more sexual penetration verdict forms to create.

Last nite, I met up with Ann and Michelle at Monterey Hill restaurant for dinner after work. (“You’re going WHERE? That’s a DATE RESTAURANT!” Michelle’s fiance Eddie had apparently complained to Michelle when she’d told him about our dinner plans. “Are you SURE you’re not meeting guys there?” Haha. Eddie’s in Taiwan right now with his family so he had to be jealous from afar.) It was the most geographically widespread dinner I’d been to in awhile; I was coming from Norwalk, Ann from Fountain Valley, and Michelle from Alhambra. All three of us had been to the nice view steakhouse before, but it’d been many years for each of us (we counted it by way of “3 boyfriends ago,” “5 boyfriends ago,” etc.). Ann and I arrived while it was still happy hour, so we each sipped on a glass of champagne while indulging in the bar’s free meatball and veggie appetizers as we waited for Michelle.

Michelle soon arrived and we were walked to our window table by the host. As soon as we sat down, Michelle pointed repeatedly somewhere to her left as she mouthed something that Ann apparently understood. I had Michelle repeat her miming so many times I’m surprised she didn’t just slap me. Turns out, I can’t read lips. Something about green monster? Was she pointing at two Asian men seated alone to her left in a booth? Or at the table with two women with the one man closer to us? Did people give us dirty looks as we walked in? “Green monster” meant jealousy, right? I asked Ann, who was seated to my right, what Michelle had said. Turned out she was trying to tell me The Incredible Hulk was seated to our right, a bit behind Ann. I turned and looked, and there sat Lou Ferrigno.

Michelle dug through her purse and soon a pink camera emerged. “We should go ask him if we could take a picture with him,” she suggested.
“Yeah, with all of us!” Ann said.
“But he’s trying to eat, he probably gets this all the time,” I hesitated.
“Yeah, I feel bad bothering a celebrity when he’s at a restaurant,” said Michelle, wavering.
There was a pause as we all reconsidered. And then Ann said, “Oh, he should be flattered! He’s a HAS-BEEN!” We laughed, but decided let him finish eating. Just in case we miss him, though, I leaned over Ann as she tried to lean back out of my way and snapped the above photo with my omnipresent cameraphone. “Geez, you’re not discreet at all!” Ann noticed. See her right shoulder at the corner of that photo. It turned out that Ferrigno’s party finished and walked out while we were doing our girl gabbing, so if I hadn’t snapped that photo, you all would’ve just had to take my word for it that we ate dinner with The Hulk. (With, next to, near, it’s just semantics, right?)

The three of us had a great time bonding and laughing over dinner. Here’s my dinner in particular:

I’d been craving lobsters for awhile. Thoughts of an old Rosarito, Mexico trip and the bargain lobster tail dinner I had there have been causing me to salivate for the past week. When the dinner bill came, the three of us Asian girls realized we had something else in common.
“Just tell me what I owe, I can’t do math,” Michelle said.
“I can’t do math, either,” I admitted, looking to Ann.
“I hate math, it was my worst subject,” confessed Ann.
“Mine too!” Michelle and I chimed in.
Michelle continued, “And people think just cuz I’m Asian, that I’m naturally good at math. And I’m really not.”
“I get that, too,” I shared. “People tend to push the tab at me.”
Ann and Michelle referred to their calculators as necessities.
“I took the most random courses in college just to avoid having to take math to fulfill my math and science GE requirement. I even took Oceanography,” I shared.
Michelle and Ann both looked up at me in surprise. “I took Oceanography, too!” they each said, and I had the feeling they took it for the same reason I did.
Michelle and I struggled through the bill some more and griped more about our pathetic math unskills, and I was vaguely aware of Ann next to me digging through her purse like a dog trying to bury a bone in its yard. Soon, Ann produced a small white thing in her fist and announced, “I have the PERFECT THING for this occasion.” We looked. It was a button that read:
I’m Too Pretty
to do Math!
We all shrieked in delight. We left making plans for a future slumber party with chick flicks, popcorn, wine, and jacuzzi at Ann’s place. (We were responsible drinkers that night; Ann and I stopped at our singular glasses of champagne, and Michelle nursed one glass of red wine the entire night.)

This weekend: bike ride and campout with the Jujitsu Peeps!

The last posts were so chock-full of gosh-darn wholesome goodness that I need to post something less wholesome to even things out. How else would this blog represent me?

I JUST had the realization a couple of weeks ago, and confirmed with Dwaine last week, how the male mind works when it sees a female. I’d always kinda thought of it as, guys just admire the appearance of something aesthetically, like “Hey, nice rack.” That’s what we girls do. “She’s got a tiny waist, I’m jealous.” “Nice shirt.” “Cute butt.” But then it occurred to me that maybe guys go beyond just a 2-D perspective of the view, they actually IMAGINE stuff while looking at the subject. So I asked Dwaine about it.

He said that for men, it’s an aesthetic appreciation of what they see WHILST a porno is simultaneously playing in the guy’s head. So it’s more like, “She’s got a tiny waist, I can imagine my hands around it while I’m pounding her from behind.” “Nice rack, bet it’d look better if I went up to her and yanked her shirt buttons open.” It was quite an epiphany! He said that the porno is automatic and even plays when the view ISN’T pleasant, which is why guys cringe and have those awful expressions when they see a giant rolly woman wobble her way around the beach in a bikini.

How did we get on this topic? On the drive back from Yosemite, I received a text from Dwaine that said, “I’m at a bar in Brea and my bartender is REALLY hot. I got her number. ;-)”
So of course I wanted to know where this new bar is. How could there be a new bar open where I frequent that I’m not aware of?
Dwaine: “It’s a new bar called Sky Lounge. Opened 3 weeks ago. It’s my first time here and I really like it. Great location and layout… We should grab a drink here some time, but not while my girl is workin. ;-)”
So I protested. “Hey, I’ve been a good wingwoman in the past!”
Dwaine’s response: “Yeah, but she might see you as competition. You fucked up at got too hot.”
I actually GIGGLED before I realized the back-handed insult.
Me: “How slick is someone who could tell one girl about hitting on another girl, but yet make the first girl feel good about it and herself at the same time? *bowing down*”
Dwaine: “It’s a gift.”
And then somehow the conversation went from that to all the dancing cleavage at the Renaissance Faire, and then much later still about theories re FTFs.

On Sunday morning, while I was getting ready to meet Anny for brunch, on my way to the closet I happened by my Dodo boy curled up irresistably on the bed. “HI, my fuzzy baby, hi!” I said to him, circling my arms around his soft furriness and rubbing my cheek on his shoulder, as his head, tail and purrs rose in greeting. We’re so close, my boy and I, I thought. But there are no photos to document this. I’ve lamented this before. This time I decided to do something about it, and pulled out the cameraphone. I call the following series of photos, “The patience of a cat.”

First, you see my boy giving me a little nuzzle on my cheek.

My attempts to turn his fuzzy feline head toward the camera was unsuccessful, considering every time I said, “Dodo, look at that! What’s that?” meaning the cell phone, he’d turn to the sound of my voice and look at ME.

I changed my positioning relative to the cat, and changed the camera angle a few times, but still kept catching the back of Dodo’s head. I won’t bore you with those. Not even the one that looks like Dodo’s sitting on TOP of my head. I finally gave up trying to turn his head.

And then I realized I got his face!! Apparently Dodo will turn AWAY from me when he thinks I’m about to lick him. But look at the annoyed look on his face.

I called Mr. W after work yesterday (he’s been at home on doctor’s orders since his heart attack). This was the conversation.

Me: Hey. The jurors left a bunch of donuts behind. Want me to bring them home?
Mr. W: What kind of donuts?
(Strike one.)
Me: All kinds. There’s an apple fritter in there. And a bunch of assorted stuff.
Mr. W: Well, at long as they’re not Krispy Kremes.
(Strike two.)
Me: So you want me to bring the box home?
Mr. W: Okay.
(Strike three. And I even gave him a moment to correct himself. He did not.)
Me: You can’t eat DONUTS!! You just had a HEART ATTACK!@#$
Mr. W: But I’m on Lipitor now, and the doctor said I don’t have to eat as strict as I did before.
Me: But you’re not working out, so even if your arteries are better, do you want to get FAT?!
Mr. W: Oh. Okay, then no.
Me: You can’t say no NOW, I already know what your REAL answer is!!!

And that’s failing the Donut Test.